“Who’s this comin’?” I asks.
“That’s Bowers. He owns the Bar B outfit, which is between us and the Bar 20. He’s likely comin’ up here to beef about somebody stealin’ his danged cows.”
Windy was right. This Bowers is a melancholy-looking jasper with sorrel hair, and he talks like he had a mouthful of mush.
“Yeah, I’m losin’ cows all the danged time,” he wails, humping over his saddle-horn. “Wisht I knowed what to do.”
“I’ll tell yuh what yuh ought to do,” suggests Hashknife.
“What?”
“Get your adenoids cut out.”
“My addy-noids?”
“Uh-huh. Your talk sounds like a bogged-down calf. You know what I mean—kinda glub-glub.”